Names
by Braly
Summary: When young America discovers that his big brother Britain and the other kid living in their hose both have "regular people names," he wonders why he doesn't have one himself. Quite fluffy.


America knew that he was just like any other kid his age, when it came down to it. You could slap a name on him and call him a country, but that didn't stop him from wanting to carry on like any other ten-year-old boy would. And at that moment, carrying on meant jumping up and down on a tree branch that he had no business being on. His giggles subsided however, when his ears pricked up to the noise of his big brother approaching, with someone else tailing behind him.

America wrapped his tiny hands around the branch, and swung down from it, his feet dangling above the air for barely a second before he dropped to the ground, soiling his trousers in the process. It didn't matter though; Britain would be much less harsh on him for grass stains, than he would for climbing trees as old and dangerous as that one. The boy hastily brushed off his knees and skipped over to see who his big brother was talking to.

"...Things seem to be growing at a much faster pace than we could ever predict beforehand," the man was mumbling, along with a lot of information that America saw no interest in. He wasn't French, which was a change sense the last group of people his big brother brought over. America was well aware of how upset the French people made his big brother, and so he decided that he didn't like them either.

Tugging on Britain's suit pants to get his attention, America interrupted their conversation. "Mr. Britain, who is this man?" He asked, not a timid bone in his body.

"Mr. Higgs, meet America," England introduced the two, but at the mention of meeting his nation, the man jumped.

"It's an honor, sir." He bent down on one knee to shake the boy's hand, who was grinning at the thought of being called a 'sir.' "Anyway, I really should get back, I'm sure they could use as many hands as possible handling the new boat load. Nice chatting with you Mr. Kirkland." America blinked in confusion as to why this man addressed his big brother as Mr. Kirkland. He looked up to see Britain's reaction, but he showed no confusion to that title. While he was pondering this, Mr. Higgs stood up and tipped his hat off to the Brit, before turning on his heel and heading back down the long dirt road with a brisk stride.

America waited a few minutes for the man to be out of ear-shot to ask the older country what was on his mind. "Mr. Britain, sir? Why did that man call you Mr. Kirkland?"

"You know America, although I appreciate the respect, you don't have to call me Mister, or sir for that matter," he smiled kindly. America pressed his lips tightly together, annoyed with having to wait to hear the answer, but Britain ignored his impatience, and began to walk back to their large house, knowing his little brother would follow him. "He addressed me as Mr. Kirkland, because that is my name."

"I thought your name was Britain," the boy said, scratching his head in confusion, and messing up his hair in the process.

"I am, I mean, it is," he stuttered, finding it hard to explain. "You see, some people like to think of me as a man, rather than a country, and as a man, I'm known as Arthur Kirkland." He slowed his walk to a stop and ran his hands through the American's hair, trying to smooth it down again. "I believe it was the Frenchie who started the trend, and of course I couldn't let _him_ have something I don't, so I decided to get one too; better than his of course," he added. "It's quite silly really, but it has its uses. Now, why don't you hop inside; supper will be in a few minutes."

"What about the other kid?" America piped up

"...Other kid? Oh, oh, you mean, oh, what was it..." he snapped his fingers, as if that would help the name come to him, "Canada! Yes, Canada. I believe he said something about bears. Go fetch him for me, will you?"

"I'm on it!" The child said excitedly, eager to accept his job, while Britain went in to prepare their meal.

America wasn't to fond of his new brother at first, not liking the idea of having to share Britain's attention, but after a few weeks with the other kid living in their huge house, he was quick to learn that Canada didn't like Britain's attention anyway. He kept to himself mostly, and their house was so big, it was like he wasn't even there sometimes. Once, America was playing in the basement, and accidentally knocked over the shelving units holding the many jars of pickled food. Naturally, he blamed it on Canada when Britain came down on him, and the boy said nothing about taking America's punishment. After that, America decided he wasn't half bad after all, though part of him still couldn't help but think he ought to have Canada's land as his own... But fortunately that part stayed dormant the majority of the time.

Up ahead he could see his long-haired look-a-like struggling to drag a large pail out of the woods. America dashed over, eager to offer assistance and show off. "I'll carry that for you!" He said, snatching the pail out of Canada's hands, demanding, rather than asking. With his strength the pail might as well have been a bag of feathers.

"Thank you," The much shyer boy said anyway. He rubbed his hands where the red marks from the handle were. America looked down to see what his neighbor was carrying.

"That's a lot of berries. Why did you pick so much?" The two of them trotted up to the house at a leisurely pace.

"There've been a lot of bears hanging around. I thought maybe if I picked all the berries they were after, they would go somewhere else," he explained. "I think I'm going to ask Mr. Britain if I'm aloud to make something with them."

"As long as it's nothing French, I'm sure he won't mind." America shrugged, but didn't miss the slight frown on the other lad's face. "Why do you miss him so much? I mean, he practically gave you away."

"He's coming back. He's left me before, but he always comes back." America didn't miss the insecurity in his voice. The two of them both knew the chances of that happening weren't that high.

He decided to change the subject. "Hey, did you know Britain has like, a regular person's name?"

"Yes."

"What? How did you know when I didn't?!" America dropped the pail and a few berries jumped out. Canada sighed, and bent down to pick them back up again.

"When he first started this anti-French rampage, he said that I needed an English name. He said I could use his, if I wanted too."

"That's stupid- you can't both be Arthur!"

"No, I mean his surname." Canada resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With the berries back in the bucket, the two continued the trek back to the house again. "I came up with my own though."  
"You mean _you_ have one too?!" This was just ridiculous in America's mind; was he the only one who knew nothing about this?

Canada nodded his head. "My name is Matthew Williams. What's yours?"

America stopped. What was he supposed to say? How could he tell the truth; that he never even heard of such an idea before a few minutes ago. "Matthew Williams? That's the most creative name you could come up with? You might as well call yourself John Smith!" Insults: the best way to avoid answering a question.

As usual, Canada didn't respond. He just looked away, embarrassed. They dumped the berries outside the door and went inside to wash up for supper.

/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\

That night, instead of being in bed like he was supposed to, America was seated cross-legged on his floor, paper and pen in hand. If he was really just like any other kid his age, he needed a name like them too. America just wasn't going to cut it.

So he began to write. Making lists of all the names he could think of, first on one side, and last on the other. The task was a lot harder than he thought it would be, after getting past the most common ones. There must've been a way to narrow it down.

He wanted a name that sounded strong and brave; a hero's name. One day, when he was big and powerful, his name would mean something. And that meant he couldn't settle for something wimpy, like 'Matthew Williams.'

America decided that he wanted a name that started with the letter A. 'A,' like Arthur. 'A' was the first letter in the alphabet, and that meant it was number one, just like him!

He began to cross out all the names on his list that didn't start with 'A,' and continued from there. Allen, Albert, Alfred, Alexander- no, that one was way to long. But now that he thought about it, Alfred didn't sound too shabby. "I could call myself Alfred," he thought out loud, circling the name. Yes, he did like the sound of that. Alfred, Alfred... He traced his eyes over to the list of surnames, and started matching them with Alfred. Alfred Bell. Alfred Wilcox. Alfred Johnson... That one didn't sound too bad... He put a question mark next to it, and continued. Alfred Blunt. Alfred McGriff. Alfred Cabot. Alfred Jones. Alfred Jones. That had a certain ring to it, didn't it? "Alfred Jones," he repeated out loud, just to make sure it sounded as cool as it did in his head.

It was settled; Alfred Jones he would be. There still felt like something was missing from it, something that made it special, but for now, Alfred Jones would have to suffice. The next morning, he would apologize to that other kid, and brag about how his name was so much better.

America folded the paper up and threw it in his wastebasket. He left the pen on the floor to put back in Britain's study in the morning. He felt much more confident going to bed now, because he was no longer doing so as just America, but as Alfred Jones as well. America knew he was just like any other kid his age. You could slap a name on him and call him a man, and that was exactly what he was going to be.

**A/N: This is my second Hetalia fanfic ****and**** my second One-Shot. After receiving some positive feedback on my last story about Canada, I decided to try again.**

**There's a certain dorky-ness to America that I just love, and the idea of trying to write him as a child was so tempting, I had to try.**

**I also recently read the list of human names of the Hetalia cast, and found the theories behind how they were chosen really interesting. Thus, it inspirited me to write this. **

**Next on my list of characters to test my might with is Spain; again, I'm weak towards adorkable characters. I look foreword to trying to write him.**

**If critique is not your forte, don't be afraid to review regardless. :)**


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